


Chosen

by princesskay



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3572732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim asks a question to Spock that he didn't think he'd get an answer to</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chosen

The hospital bathroom boasts a row of hand sanitation devices and a full-length mirror above them, giving a reflection to anyone who enters, even those not attempting to look.

I'm not attempting to look, yet here I stand, contemplating those stubborn gray hairs coming in at my temples.

_I'm not that old._ I muse, frowning at my weary expression,  _Really, forty-six isn't that old._

I suppose it depends upon what you're comparing those years to. If I'm comparing it to the number of times my life has been in danger, my thoughts would be highly contradictory.

It's happened again, much to my chagrin, leaving Spock in a hospital bed. His inherent desire to protect me no matter what damage to himself is endearing, though shocking and stressful to my fragile human emotions.

If it were the other way around, he wouldn't be having this conversation with himself in the mirror, I'm sure.

The vibration of my mobile phone in my pocket tears me from deep thoughts. I whisk it from my garment and note the message on the screen.

_He's awake and asking for you._

A brisk smile crosses my lips and leave the bathroom, and the worrisome inflection behind behind me.

The hospital hallways are quiet, white, and sterile, though recent advances have found a way to make the smells more manageable. I take the nearest turbo lift to the right floor, tapping my foot anxiously the whole ride. The moment the door swishes open, I stride down the clean, tile floors, my boots clicking loudly in the almost utter silence.

I quickly find Spock's room, and Dr. McCoy lingering outside.

“How is he, Bones?” I ask as I approach.

“He'll be fine.” McCoy replies with a wry smile, “With a human, I'd chalk it up to luck, but with Spock, it's simple anatomy and that baffling green blood of his. The phaser didn't hit anywhere near his vital organs.”

“Wonderful.” I replied, the first smile in hours cracking my face, “He's okay for visitors?”

“Just you.” McCoy says, his eyes all but twinkling, “I'll leave you to it.”

I pat his shoulder affectionately as he walks past me, shaking his head in amusement.

I must admit, as the only bearer of our secret, the doctor is allowed a few chuckles – although, at times, I'm still just as shocked as Bones that I ever managed to crack that logical, Vulcan exterior.

The doors slide open to accept me into Spock's room. The lights are at a calming, dim level, washing the white room in a soothing, yellow light. My first officer, and the greatest treasure of mine, lies flat on his back in the bed, gazing blankly, yet resolutely at the ceiling.

“I suppose you couldn't persuade the good doctor to release me?” He asks.

“I didn't try.” I reply, easing down on the edge of the bed next to him. “This is just where you belong. That was a nasty wound.”

“I assure you, Jim, I'm quiet all right.” He insists, glancing up at me with certainty in his brown eyes.

“Mm.” I murmur, taking his hand in mine.

Quietly, I examine the long, pale fingers, the clean, even nails, and the green veins flowing just beneath the surface. I know those hands so well, yet after the threat on my life outside Starfleet Academy, I must pause to appreciate the sheer beauty of even his simplest feature.

“I don't believe you've heard me, Jim.” He observes, attempting to wrest his hand from mine.

“I heard you perfectly fine, Spock, but it would do me good to be sure that the wound will heal properly.” I reply, squeezing his hand firmly, “Promise me you'll stay right here.”

An uncharacteristic sigh rolls off his lips, urging a smile to mine. Shifting and stiffening his spine, he bolts his gaze once more to the ceiling.

“If it calms your irrational scenarios of my death.”

“Comments like that do just the opposite.”

“I've already calculated my medical condition. Noting the pace at which the assassin approached, his mental state and the affect it had on his aim, along with the location of my wound, I can assure you I am not at death's door. Furthermore, I knew all this the moment I put myself between you and the assassin.”

He glances over at me with a familiar arched brow, and his own special brand of sass that really shouldn't be acceptable from a Vulcan.

“Of course you did, Spock.” I simply reply, smiling.

“Then what, may I ask, is your cause for worry?”

“It's just that pesky human emotion getting in the way again.” I say, “Concern for well-being after something so shocking is natural for us. In short, it just means I love you.”

Pale green rises up his cheeks, and his eyes dart away. His continued embarrassment toward my proclamations of love never fades, nor does my adoration of it, no matter how many years pass.

“Very well then.” He replies, lifting his chin, “I won't attempt to separate you from it any longer.”

I lift his knuckles to my lips, spreading the warmth of my breath and a few tender kisses over the soft skin.

“And I do.” I add, ignoring his logical response, “Love you.”

His fingers tug away from mine, once more searching escape. It's funny after all he has allowed me to do with his resisting body that it's the simple things like a kiss on the hand that seem to affect him the most.

“I would find words to match you, Jim.” He says, gazing up at the ceiling, “But, as always, it would be illogical.”

“I would think being in a state of denial would also be illogical.” I tease lightly, bending down to impart another kiss against his cheek.

“I have discovered that with you, there exist varying levels of illogical behavior.” He retorts, meeting my gaze, eye lashes batting softly.

I graze my fingertips across the curve of his jaw, reveling in the softness. My kisses find their way across his cheek to his lips, absorbing the taste with delight. Dragging passionate kisses from Spock are a rare occurrence, and so, I don't consider it a crime to take advantage of vulnerable moments, even if he is injured.

Much to my delight, his mouth responses ardently, even giving my mouth an arousing thrill with the stroke of his tongue. I bend closer, crushing my mouth against his, pouring my love and passion into the quickly closing recess of his throat.

All too soon, he is drawing away, tearing our mouths apart prematurely in human standards, yet much too late in his rigidly logical Vulcan brain.

I gaze down at him with a smile, and continue stroking his cheek with my fingertips for the sheer joy of watching him blush a deeper green.

“It might amuse you, Jim, that you leave me speechless.” He whispers, his voice husky.

“Amused? No.” I reply, despite the smile spreading across my mouth, “Enamored. Yes.”

Pursing his lips, he struggles to form a reply, but eventually settles upon looking up at me with a gaze radiating the closest thing to adoration a Vulcan can feel.

At last, he pats my hand and nods toward the door, “It's late, Jim. You should go home and rest.”

“I'd rather not leave you.” I argue, glancing stubbornly at the door.

“By my estimation, we arrived at the Academy 0800 hours this morning. The attack was over in three point seven five minutes, and it took approximately ten point two five minutes for the ambulance to arrive and another five to carry me to the hospital. I have since been in surgery for three point five hours, and only just awoke one hour ago. We have been conversing for half of an hour, and it is now past 1200 hours. According to human routines, you must find nourishment.”

He says it all utterly stone-faced, but his eyes are tender. I don't have the heart to tell him that the stress of the day has left me nauseous, with little desire for food.

“All right, Spock.” I reply, “I'll go eat some lunch, but I will be back to sit with you.”

“Sit with me, Jim? I was expecting the doctor to release me after final tests.” He says, his head popping up from the pillow.

“Negative, Spock. Dr. McCoy thinks its a good idea for them to keep you overnight for observation.” I say, rising from the bed to leave.

“That is utter ridiculousness.” Spock protests, indignantly, fighting to sit upright.

“I don't think so, Spock.” I say, pressing him back to the mattress with my hands on his shoulders, “You're going to stay right here until Dr. McCoy clears you to go home.”

“I've already deduced that I am fit to leave. Seeing as the nurses have run their final tests, I believe I could check myself out.”

“You're staying right here until Bones says so, Spock.” I reply, firmly, “As your captain, I can make that an order.”

A frown tugs at his brow, but he lapses against the bedsheets.

“I don't believe that's entirely fair …  _Captain_ .” 

“Why is that?”

“Considering our … special relationship.” Spock explains, “I don't believe that you entered this room as my captain.”

“You're right. I did not.” I say, striding towards the door, “But I am leaving as your captain. Rest well, Spock.”

I slip out of the room before he can protest further and press the door shut behind me. I chuckle when I see McCoy meandering down the hall with a look of amusement on his features.

“Our point-eared friend isn't too happy about being stuck here over night, I assume.” He deduces.

“I believe being unhappy is illogical.” I say with a smile, “However, he has deduced that he is healthy, and that his staying the night is 'utter ridiculousness.'”

“Honestly, I don't know how you put up with him.” Bones replies, shaking his head.

“Sometimes, neither do I.”

“He is sort of right, you know.” The doctor reminds me, “We've run all the tests we can, patched him up, and given him medicine for the pain.”

“No, no,” I say, waving my hand, “The power he has over his mind and dealing with pain is unquestionable, but it does stop him from realizing if the wound actually needs more attention. I want to make absolute certain that he's all right.”

“Is that the captain talking?” Bones asked, lightly teasing.

“It's all of me talking … Now, I promised Spock I would go eat lunch. Is the cafeteria here any good?”

“I'd recommend the Chinese.”

“All right. Keep any eye on him.” I request as I turn to leave, “I'll be back shortly.

 

~

 

When I promised to be back shortly, I meant to return as soon as I had finished lunch. My plans to spend the rest of the night with Spock, however, became derailed when I ran into some acquaintances from the Academy who demanded to know every detail of the attempted assassination that morning.

After explaining the entire event, assuring them the man had been taken into custody, and expounding upon Mister Spock's status, I finally free myself of their gossip and rush back to the nearest turbo lift.

When I arrive, McCoy is nowhere in sight and the lights in Spock's room are further dimmed. I tip-toe inside to find the reading computer still sitting in front of Spock's closed eyes, material on human psychology displayed on the screen.

Smiling adoringly, I move the reading screen out of the way and bring the sheets higher over Spock's rhythmically rising chest.

_No matter how much you research, you'll never understand..._

I pull up a chair next to the bed and carefully slip my hand into his.

_Of course, if I have it my way, you'll have a lifetime of living, breathing specimen to research._

Laying my head down on the bed next to our clasped hands, I close my eyes and finally let my mind rest from the stress of the day.

I'm not sure how long I rested there before Spock's hand began to move inside the grip of my own. I lift my head sharply to search his face for signs of pain or any need.

Instead, he greets me with a brief smile, “I do hope you managed to find sustenance in the considerable time you were gone, Jim.”

“I apologize.” I reply, squeezing his hand, “I ran into some concerned individuals from the Academy.”

“Quite all right, Jim. It gave me time for meditation and rest.”

“And this?” I asked, motioning to the reading screen.

“Yes, I still strive to understand your complex human emotions at times, Jim.” He replies, without a hint of remorse.

“I'm not sure what you'll find what you're looking for in a book.” I reply, quietly, “Nor will I.”

“What do you refer to?”

“You, Spock.” I say, smiling and shrugging, “Your logic seems so simple at face value, but then you factor in your human half, years of discipline, and your acceptance of … of us. It becomes something I don't quite understand either.”

“As you stated earlier, Jim, being in a state of denial is illogical, and at some point it becomes even more illogical than carrying on a relationship with my captain when it begins to exert pressure on logic as a whole.” Spock explains, his expression remaining smooth.

“But how?” I asked, “Why, more appropriately?”

“Why what?”

“Not what. Who.... Why me?”

When my question is greeted with a frown, I shrug and throw up my hands.

“Consider is fragile human emotion, Spock. It's called insecurity.”

“Over what?”

I chuckle and shake my head, “Us, Spock. You. How did I ever manage to obtain what I wanted with you?”

“Through many attempts, advances, and at times illogical bursts of anger-”

“No, no.” I wave my hand, “Not the means. Overall. I am the captain of a star ship, and it is forbidden for me to carry on relationships with my subordinates. Furthermore, despite my accomplishments as captain, you will always be superior to me in every way. No matter what I accomplish, your mind – your being – is on an entirely different level than mine.”

“Jim,” Spock replies, slowly, “On Vulcan, mates are chosen by the parents. Because the nature of mating is illogical, it is cloaked in tradition and ritual, and holds little personal meaning. It is simple a vehicle to continue on the race. The mates are chosen based on age, intelligence, and standing in the community, not on anything the child is interested in... What you are expressing has everything to do with Vulcan tradition, and not the platform of the _Enterprise,_ on which we embarked on this journey together. It has no connection to myself.”

I gaze at him blankly for a few moments, continually thankful to the gods that he has such patience with me.

“For the first time in my life, Jim, I had the chance to choose a mate based solely on my situation, personality, and thinking patterns. Obviously, it had nothing to do with intelligence, accomplishments, or future standing in the Vulcan community. On Vulcan, I am a half-breed, inferior in the eyes of many. To humans, I am an emotionless machine, inferior and offensive to their ways. However, on the _Enterprise,_ I found myself equal with you, yet placed above the rest of the crew. Being observant as I am, it did not escape my notice that you valued me, not only as a member of the crew, but also as your friend. Noting the inconsistencies and prejudices of other humans, I knew you were not like the others. As I saw it, my choices were greatly limited. I had to choose you, because you were the only option. You were the only one who would ever understand. Out of all the humans in the stars, you were the only one that would accept me the way that I am.”

I find myself blinking back tears, and turning away to hide them. I had never inquired of Spock to explain his slow acceptance of our relationship until now, but I never expected such a human response.

“Jim, you know how your crying unsettles me.” Spock murmurs, reaching out to touch my face, “Let me calm you.”

I bat his fingers away from the pressure point for the mind-meld.

“Don't. Please.” I whisper, pushing myself into his arms, “Just put your arms around me.”

A moment of silence, and a quiet sigh later, he puts his arms around my shoulders in a stiff, yet confining manner.

“There, now.” He says, attempting to be comforting, but sound quite like a computer being fed lines.

“I love you, Spock.” I whisper into his shoulder.

He smells soft and earthy. Familiar and mine.

He draws in a deep, mechanical breath, the same way he always does.

“Don't worry, you don't have to say it in return,” I assure him, wrapping my arms tight around his middle, “You just did, in your own way.”

 

~the end

 


End file.
